Deadwood Country

In a par­al­lel world, where I was still with 

hawk_eye

, or if I were a world trav­eler like 

mer­ovingian

, I would have more details for you of the self who split off from me as we made the decision to go down I‑90 to Rapid City instead of 385 to Dead­wood on our way to Mount Rush­more as the light faded.

That altern­at­ive self would have seen a town where little has changed since the 1880s, streets lined with saloons, a town where Wild Bill Hickok was shot in the back of the head play­ing poker, hand full of black aces and eights, now called the dead man’s hand, the town where Calam­ity Jane is buried. That altern­at­ive self would have then had 35 miles of wind­ing moun­tain road to climb as the sun faded and would have got to Mount Rush­more long after dusk.

She would have had more stor­ies to tell.